1944
 Rhone, France
 Leo

Against the backdrop of glistening white expanses, Sasha's face was adorned with a genuine smile that seemed to defy the chill in the air.

It was early morning. I stood outside the door, donning layers and layers of sweaters and jumpers, looking at her.

Clad in a heavy coat and knitted scarf,  she knelt down to the ground so she was at an eye level with the exuberant canine that Evan owned called Lotje. The dog wagged its tail fervently, and it leapt through the snowdrifts with boundless energy, leaving behind a trail of paw prints.

Laughter resonated in the crisp, cold air as Sasha scooped up handfuls of snow and playfully tossed them towards Lotje. The dog responded with gleeful barks, darting around her in an enthusiastic game of chase. With each leap and frolic, they seemed to form an unspoken bond.

As the sun cast its golden glow over the winter landscape, the two figures continued their cheerful romp. Sasha's boots left deep imprints in the snow as she chased and tumbled with Lotje. The snowy terrain and I bore witness to their shared delight, silently watching in adoration at the scene before us.

It all seemed so peaceful.

  Evan emerged from the nearby glade, his arms loaded with firewood. He looked at Sasha and then to me.

"She seems happy," He said.

"It has been a while since I saw her smile," I replied softly, my gaze drifting to the dog. "How long have you kept Lotje?"

"Since I was about ten. My Father gifted her to me as a present."

"Is your Father still around?"

"He's quite alive and well. He had gone back to Paris to help my uncle, but I haven't heard of him lately."

"May I ask...how did my Mother come into your life?"  Evan clicked his tongue and answered,

"Long story. I'll do my best to fill you in on what happened." He then ushered me inside, and called out to Sasha and Lotje to come back.

Evan led me to the kitchen, where he sat down and motioned at the freshly baked Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte that lay on the table. "Come, help yourself. Our neighbour was kind enough to bake it for us."  I took a slice and started to gingerly eat it whilst listening intently.

"Do you remember the night when your father tried to kill you?"

The taste of Ch